


Resonance

by DarkShadeless



Series: SWTOR - collection [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Blood and Gore, Broonmark related, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Happy Ending, SRSLY THO, because that's my gig, but screw him, not for Broonmark, which is pretty much, why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-02-23 16:08:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13193679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkShadeless/pseuds/DarkShadeless
Summary: Yon’Sar tended to have feelings about people. Good, bad, in between. It wasn’t anything special, most Force sensitives did. But sometimes, very rarely, he would lay eyes on someone and his world would come to a halt.This one. This one is yours.He hadn’t expected to run into that in a cave at the arse end of Hoth of all places.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pomegrenadier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pomegrenadier/gifts).



> About half a year late but better than never?
> 
> Okay, I wanted to write something nice about how Sewlor survives. This is what I got. I just- I blame Broonmark. For all of it. So does my Sith Warrior, for the record. He's not a fan.

The moment they cleared the cave entrance Yon knew something was wrong. They had been on the trail for weeks, always a step behind Xerender’s forces. Gaining on the Jedi but not yet there.

This should have been it. The base camp, at last.

But something was terribly wrong.

Yon could feel Jaesa taking notice of his sudden disquiet, reaching out to feel- He was signalling her to stop before he made a conscious decision to do so.

“Master?”

“You might want to shield yourself.”

It wasn’t a trap. Not for them, specifically. There was intent but nothing aimed. Just an undirected veil, hanging over everything. It felt familiar, yet not. Slipped through Yon’s fingers like smoke when he tried to pinpoint what it was, despite the pressure that had him on edge.

He had felt this before. Stale, not fresh. Not like this. The threat, settling on his shoulders, the shadows that took on a deeper cast at the corner of his eye. Death, waiting and inescapable, and the whole place drowned in-

‘Terror.’

They found the first bodies only a few strides in.

Talz Commandos. Xerender’s men, without a doubt. There was snow clinging to their fur, the dark eyes glassy and covered in frost. They must have been dead for some time.

‘What is going on here?’

The foreboding feeling intensified the farther they got. Blood and viscera, on the walls, the floor. Equipment strewn about carelessly, or left leaning as if it was to be used in but a moment. More bodies. The faint howling of the storm outside.

This wasn’t the work of animals, or an attack by enemy forces.

In some places there were drag marks or other signs of someone cleaning up, only for the next corpse to be left carelessly a step further. It had Yon fighting off a shiver that had little to do with the cold. That looming, directionless malice dripping over his sense of the Force, half frozen and oily. The madness chittering at the edge of it.

 _You will die here._ It seemed to chirp. _You can’t escape._

Jaesa was silent and tense at his back. Yon suppressed the urge to reach out and reassure her. He needed to stay battle ready. _Whatever had done this was still here_.

‘Oh, kriffing hells.’ Sometimes he really hated the Force and its _incredibly unhelpful hints_. Not ‘It’s over there in the corner.’ Of course not. ‘It’s _here_ , good luck finding it before it kills you.’

The way through the winding tunnels and hollowed-out side caves was long and harrowing. They didn’t find a single survivor. Most of the Talz were long cold, even for their physiology.

Some weren’t. That was almost worse.

Yon rounded another bend, stepping over a fallen commando whose blood looked freshly spilled. It was clutching a half-crumbled ration bar to its chest. The large non-human looked small and pitiful, curled up as it was. Almost childlike. He tried to ignore the sight.

The center of the large cave opening up in front of him was brightly lit.

The tunnels had been illuminated enough to allow navigation, little more. Yon had wondered, idly, whether the one responsible for the carnage had taken out the lights as well. Possible. Perhaps the Talz had horded them here, in an attempt to create a safe place.

If so, it hadn’t worked.

The main cave, it must be, was strewn with victims, shadowed unmoving lumps.

Yet, for the first time since they had entered, there was also something else. Steps. Was that a _voice_? Urgency gripped Yon’s heart.

‘Careful now.’ It wouldn’t do to lose sight of the danger. The open space surrounding the thermal tents in the center was the most perilous part. Nowhere to hide or seek cover. Yon had a feeling that the attacker wouldn’t have the same difficulties. To catch so many trained commandos off guard they had to be incredibly skilled. To say nothing of how even his sense of the Force refused to give him more than an impression of peril and bloodthirst, never more.

There was a depression in the middle of the cave, a natural shelter. Unfortunately it impeded sight in both directions. They had likely thought of that too late.

Stepping into the ring of lights made something in his chest unclench. ‘Unwise.’ A false sense of security.

Before Yon could shake it he caught sight of the person they had heard. Everything stopped. The horror they had stumbled upon fell away. The knowledge of where Jaesa was. His purpose, his goal. For the span of a breath there was nothing but perfect clarity, like one of his great-aunt’s wine glasses set to ringing for a toast.

 _Connection_.

Yon’Sar blinked and it was gone. But it had been there, he could still feel the echo. The potential. ‘Oh.’

Maybe that sense of security hadn’t only been caused by the lights.

It wasn’t the first time this had happened to him but the only other person who had ever invoked a reaction nearly as strong was Jaesa. That first meeting had been foreshadowed in many ways. There had been time for the possibility of what they could be to sneak up on him, before he truly felt it.

Compared to that this was a sudden dunk in icy water. Only warmer. A dunk in something warm and comforting that tasted like home.

_This one. This one is yours._

Yon shook his head sharply to gather his wits. ‘Get a grip. You’re still in danger.’ Maybe now more than ever. He didn’t need to inspect the rest of the cave system to know, bone-deep, that the Jedi pacing restlessly in the center of the camp and talking to himself was the only person left alive apart from them.

They were the only victims the murderer could claim. The murderer, who was still _here_. Somewhere.

‘I have a bad feeling about this.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's all take a moment to appreciate what would happen now if this was canon.


	2. Chapter 2

_It was so cold._

Of course it was. This was Hoth. The whole planet was little more than an oversized ball of ice and snow. The Force helped in all things, though, just as his Master always said. If you concentrated, kept your mind clear-

_It was sinking into his bones._

_Every day the darkness crawled closer._

_I don’t want to die._

 

Sewlor tried to shake the thought. Tried to focus. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been centered enough to meditate.

Not that he could risk the attempt. He had to stay alert. If he let himself get distracted-

 

_It was picking them off, one by one._

The sentries had died first. They had thought a wampa had gotten in, at the beginning. That there was a nest nearby and the animals had pegged their camp as a hunting ground. Maybe the patrol had been caught by surprise.

 

_But why would they leave the bodies behind?_

 

They had doubled the watch. It hadn’t helped. That was when they had gotten suspicious, started to fortify the camp against infiltration.

 

_Nothing they did was enough._

 

They couldn’t huddle up in one place. The layout of their camp didn’t allow for it.

The generators had to be seen to, the powerlines kept in repair. Enemies could find them, the Sith were on their trail, and they were still waiting for word from their commander. What if the messenger got torn up by the thing that was killing their comrades and no one noticed?

 

_It had been content to stay at the edges, at first. Cull those that wandered out of sight._

 

But the message hadn’t come. Neither had their next supply shipment. Within days it became clear that they needed to hunt or they would run out of food, if Master Xerender’s errand took much longer.

The tauntaun were edible. Probably the predatory species too if you got desperate enough to actually try for _those_.

 

_But to hunt you had to head outside. To split up._

 

It was Broonmark. It had to be. Sewlor had known that a member of the Talz clan they were working with had gone rogue. He had even tried to bring up the topic with his Master. It was never wise to fight on too many fronts at once.

But Master Xerender had dismissed his concerns. What could one Talz do to derail their plans?

 

_What, indeed._

 

If only his Master had listened! If he hadn’t left them behind-

 

_Left him. In the cold, defenceless against the thing that was waiting in the shadows._

 

Master Xerender hadn’t had time for any of it. It was as if he could barely even hear him, all of his attention far, far away. None left to spare for his Padawan, much less the fate of men that only slowed him down. Too much to plan for, to keep an eye on. Smaller numbers could move faster, act with greater flexibility.

Once their usefulness had run thin Master Xerender had rounded them up and told them to make camp and wait for orders.

 

_Their bond was silent. He had given up reaching for it days ago._

_His Master couldn’t hear him._

_He had locked him out._

Now Sewlor was the only one left. They were all dead. He was alone, with the hunger and the cold and the echo of the wind.

Troukon, their second lieutenant, had been with him until the end. She had watched him shiver and pace for two days with her dark eyes before she told him to guard the generator in her stead. That she would look if there was anything left of their rations.

_She hadn’t come back._

Was this it? Was Broonmark going to wait him out, toying with him until the damned monster got tired of it? Did it watch him jump at shadows and grow weaker every day?

But what could he do? How did you fight what you couldn’t see?

The Force was of no help. All it was giving Sewlor was the crushing horror that had built from weeks of sentient beings trapped in the cave system, breathing hopelessness and death.

 

_The monster is here._

He knows. He _knows_. He wouldn’t need the Force to know it but that was all it would tell him. It was here. Waiting. Thirsting for his blood. Feasting on his fear.

 

_Fear is the path to the Dark Side. You need to let it go._

His Master’s advice, what felt like ages ago. His Master, who had left them here to die.

 

_Anger, sparking helplessly and futile._

How could he let it _go_? There was nothing _but_ fear here. The Force itself a miasma of terror and carnage. Between the cloying pressure and the way his head was swimming Sewlor wasn’t sure how much of what he saw was still real. But he had to hold on. Because- because-

 

_I don’t want to die here. I don’t want to die._

A crunch of ice underfoot.

Sewlor whirled and found himself face to face with a ghost. Not the ghost he had expected to find, either. A slim humanoid form, draped all in white. It was blurry and light blue around the edges as if it had stepped right out of one of Hoth’s glaciers.

A single glowing red line bisected its blank face, sinister and hypnotic.

He stumbled back a step, trying to shake the image. ‘Kriff. I’m hallucinating.’ Sewlor had known he was starting to slip but this was beyond the pale-

Someone else rounded the rock formation sheltering the heart of their camp. His eyes caught on the sharper edges, the yellow and cream of body armour. Solid. Real.

It tore the entire scene out of the imaginary. ‘What.‘

_Sith._

Of course. They had been waiting for them to catch up. Sewlor felt hysterical laughter crawl up his throat. He forced it down.

Now, after weeks, after the whole camp had been bled dry, slaughtered by a spectre no one could catch, _now_ they came. When it was too late for- for- ‘For what? For them to put us out of our misery?’

_How did that even make sense?_

Did it matter? They were here. They were _real_. He couldn’t fight what he couldn’t see but a Sith? A Sith he could fight.

His Master would tell him not to attack, but his Master wasn’t _here_.


	3. Chapter 3

Yon was so inured to battle his reflexes could carry him through danger when he was the next best thing to unconcious. That was the only reason he managed to parry the Jedi’s blade.

His body fell into the stance with ease while his mind was still reeling. Faintly, he registered a shout of warning from his apprentice. “Master!”

The young man’s wild swings drove him back, he _let_ them, scrambling for a way to avert this disaster.

_Not him, I can’t-_

It was bad enough when the Jedi threw their apprentices his way like this, _half-trained cannon fodder, how could they hope to face a Sith? Where was the honor in cutting them down?_ But one that might be, could be, should be his? Yon _can’t_ kill him.

And it would be all too easy.

His opponent was running on little more than the desperate desire to survive and not even able to use it properly. He was projecting a confusing mix of denial and furious hurt, a frozen scream, splintering at the edges but still so bright. All of his frenzied energy was honing in on Yon, on this _task_ put before the Jedi and giving him direction.

He wasn’t going to stop. Not if they didn’t _make_ him.

Yellow flashed in the corner of the Sith's eye. _Oh no._

Without a second though he dropped his a ‘saber and dove under the padawan’s sloppy guard with his palm leading. The Force-enhanced shove sent him flying so harshly Yon knew he had bruised the young man’s ribs at least. A second later Jaesa’s saberstaff passed him by so closely he swore he could feel the heat despite his insulated armor.

Or maybe that was her shocked dismay at almost stabbing her own master.

“Stand down, Jedi! No one has to get hurt over this!” _  
_

A slightly hysterical laugh answered his demand. It cracked halfway through and Yon _ached_ with it. “I don’t think so _Sith_!”

_Of course not._

He grabbed his lost ‘saber off the floor and catapulted himself into an attack without pause, Jaesa but a step behind him. Yon could only hope she had caught on that the goal was _non-lethal takedown_. There really was no time to stop and explain.

That their opponent seemed dead set on killing them or dying in the attempt was just half the problem. Yon had seen enough of what could happen to Jedi when they started to slip. Nomen Karr came to mind. The man had aged decades inside a heartbeat and not even noticed, eaten from the inside out by powers he thought he could control. The Dark had all but sucked the marrow from his bones for his presumption. The Sith had no wish to watch a repeat performance of that with someone he actually gave half a damn about.

Their lightsabers clashed, locked, and his muscles twinged with the follow up he didn’t execute, the twist that would free his blades and sever his opponent’s hands at the wrist.

Instead Jaesa moved in, unbalanced the Jedi’s stance to give Yon an opening to ( _run him through_ ) herd him back towards the center of the camp.

 _Kriff._ It was always harder to fight someone you didn’t want to damage. A lightsaber didn't have a side that wouldn't cut straight through anything it came into contact with.

The next few minutes were a harrying exercise in _staying alive_. The padawan was flagging visibly but in the meantime he threw everything he had their way. Yon had fought Masters that didn’t manage to scrape together a Force wind of that strength. In any other situation, in any other opponent... until now the Sith hadn't had cause to lament an enemy's competence.

_Come on, damn it! One slip is all I need!_

Finally, _finally_ the Jedi stumbled over a lose cable, half hidden on the rocky ground. Yon brought an armored fist down on his unprotected elbow without a shred of remorse.

Xerender’s student lost his footing and his blade with a cry. The hilt clattered to the floor between them, rolling a few inches before coming to a halt.

It would be so easy to crush it underfoot. Yon was half convinced he would have to, the boy looked about ready to throw himself at him, unarmed or not.

Stubbornness or desperation, or whatever else, it was admirable. Would be. As soon as Yon was in a position to appreciate that fighting spirit.

_If it doesn’t press me into killing him. Please, anything but that._

He really should have known better than to beg favours of the Force.


	4. Chapter 4

Sewlor honestly considered trying for it. He had gotten this far. He couldn’t- to give up _now_ , give in, no matter that it was inevitable-

_But I won’t win, will I?_

He looked up at the man come to find him. ( _And wasn’t that the height of irony? How he had **wanted** to be found._ )

It was hard to tell with the armor but the he barely seemed winded. Just still, braced above Sewlor’s only weapon in an open Jar’Kai stance. Waiting.

( _Your lightsaber is your life, padawan._ He could still hear his Master’s voice, chastising him, correcting him and _he hates it, hates it, hates it._ )

The Sith reminded Sewlor of nothing so much as an ice cat watching a tauntaun for its next move. Playing with its food.

Like the attacker did. Playing with them, for kicks. They never stood a chance. He was so _tired_ of it. Slowly the fight bled out of him, leaving nothing but exhaustion behind.

“Go ahead and kill me, then. I didn’t want to die to that beast anyway.”

_I didn’t want to die,_ swung underneath, brittle with hope lost who knew how long ago. Maybe the Sith would make it quick, at least.

_As if I’d be so lucky._

They’d want to know where his Master went. What he was up to. Sewlor swallowed, throat dry. No matter what they did to him, he couldn’t tell them anything. Xerender didn’t deign to give him even that much.

But why would they believe that? He’s the man’s padawan, after all.

“No one’s going to die. All I’m here for is Xerender.” There it was. The Sith’s filtered voice was precise, tinged with the mechanical undertone of a rebreather. It was almost soft despite the burr. Like falling snow, waiting for a breeze to whip it into sharpness and needles.

“He’s gone.” The words burst out of Sewlor, a confession he had been holding onto so tightly it hurt. They had all thought it but no one had talked about it. With every moment the pressure had grown more unbearable. _He’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone. He **betrayed** us. _

Now there was no one left, no one but the Sith, someone who _asked_ and he couldn’t- He couldn’t. His Master would be so disappointed in him.

_Why do I still care? Do I care?_

Sewlor didn’t know anymore. “He left, he left us with that _thing_. I swear, I don’t know where he went. He said he’d- he’d send a message but he didn’t.” _He didn’t._ It hadn’t been lost. Their commander had abandoned them.

The Force was growing more oppressive, no doubt tinged with the Sith’s rising anger, and nothing Sewlor could say would save him but still he couldn’t stop, words almost tripping over each other in their haste to finally be freed. “The Talz warned him about Broonmark! He’s a savage Talz seeking revenge on Fetzellen and the others for ousting him. But did Xerender care? No! Now Broonmark is in here, somewhere, murdering-”    

A faint sound wormed its way past his fear. Scraping, so quiet, there and gone. Sewlor whirled, the back of his neck prickling with cold sweat. “Did- did you hear that?”


	5. Chapter 5

The Talz materialized out of thin air. It had its paws on the Jedi’s throat before Yon could do so much as blink.

_No. No!_

He threw himself forward, furious denial boiling under his skin and setting the Force alight. Reckless. Sloppy. His guard would have made his teachers weep. Yon barely felt it when the creature made him pay for his mistakes.

It had to drop the padawan to do so. That was all that mattered.

The young man fell like a ragdoll, limbs askew. The snow under their feet stained red all too quickly. “Jaesa!”

He couldn’t hear her assent over the rushing in his ears. His world was narrowing to one thing and one thing alone.

_Two._ No matter how hot Yon’s temper ran he wouldn't allow harm to come to his student. Students. _Oh Force, let there still be two of them._ The disjointed cacophony of the padawan’s hurt and helplessness had fallen silent.

How dare that thing hurt what was his. How _dare_ it.  

It met his ‘sabers with a blade of its own, an oversized monstrosity that was all brute force and little finesse. Yon would be better served with playing it safe, outmanoeuvring the fool and striking when it couldn’t keep up. He was lithe and quick where his opponent was not. He was also much too angry for the dance.

It was a flaw he had yet to conquer in himself. Rarely, his emotions slipped beyond his control but when they did… He rejoiced in battle always, the fury was his very blood. His greatest asset and pride was the ability to stay mindful as he corralled the Dark to do his bidding and lend him its strength.

True anger was different. It stole his reason like a thief. All it left was the uncontrollable desire to beat his enemy into the ground. If Yon wasn’t so strong in the Force he might already be dead.

The power came to his call in a searing flood. It scorched his soul even as he embraced it. Later, he would feel scraped raw inside. Later. Now it lifted him up beyond what his opponent could hope to conquer.

His retaliation was as brutal as it was swift. The assault drove the Talz before him,  _away_ , and Yon feeds on its thwarted rage even as he paid for his recklessness. The pain barely registered before the Dark Side swept it away, ate it up to mend what was bruised and broken. It hurt almost more to heal than to be harmed. His mistress wasn’t kind.

Yon grabbed all she gave him with both hands.

The Talz would rue the day it thought to reach for what it had no business touching.


	6. Chapter 6

In the end, Yon’s thirst for revenge remained unslaked. The Talz made its escape with the same technology that kept it cloaked for its initial assault. It might be attempting another ambush, but he didn’t think so. Gone, more likely than not. Looking for a weaker prey, a more helpless sort of victim.

_Despicable._

His ire is fit to thaw a glacier but he wouldn't chase it. Not yet. There were more important things to see to than his own satisfaction.

The Sith took a steadying breath and chained his rage. An uphill battle, not only because he was so very livid. Anger consumed all, if allowed, all he did not want to feel.

In the center of the deserted camp Jaesa was bent low over the padawan they found, hands aglow with her own powers.

If there was one ability Yon wished he had... He can send all that would threaten them to fleeing. Outside of that his talents were of little use here.

Stabilizing the Jedi’s condition left his student as pale as her patient but filled with quiet pride. It brightened her aura and the tired smile she gifted him when Yon squeezed her shoulder in recognition of her accomplishment.

He did try to encourage her confidence. Her former Master had done his level best to undermine her on that front and it was a travesty. She was so _powerful_. If she explored her abilities unafraid she'd outshine any number of Jedi, or Sith, him included. Yon had no doubt of it.

Between the two of them, that made _one_ person who thought so. Too often Jaesa was her own worst enemy. 

 

_She claims he’s teaching her wisdom. He’s not sure how he managed that._

 

Half lost in thought the Sith studied their injured charge. The gash across his throat was swathed in kolto patches and, thankfully, no longer bleeding through them. It would take some time for him to recover fully. Even so he was lucky, considering the alternatives.

The soft chime of _potential_ curled around the padawan's presence. With the danger passed it was unmarred and all the more beautiful for it. Hopefully, Yon would do right by this one as well, whatever they were meant for. If the possibility was realized.

It wasn't certainty, after all. Few things were.

_Time will tell._

Outside the storm is slowly coming to a lull. They’d be able to return the young man to the Fury soon. Then he'd have to find a way to convince his rather protective apprentice to take a damned break while he gallivanted off to finish their mission. As beautiful as Hoth was, he wasn't taking her with him when she looked like death warmed over.

 

Jaesa didn't need to see what he would do once he caught up with that kriffing Talz or, worse, Xerender.

Yon couldn’t bring himself to find a shred of mercy in his heart for either of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised a happy ending and I hope I delivered. (At the very least it's better than canon.)   
> No worries, there's a second part that I'm poking right now. Sewlor is too amazing to have so little screen time. 
> 
> Love!  
> Shade


End file.
